


Perfect specimens

by Tyellas



Series: Lab T-4 [5]
Category: The Shape of Water (2017)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dissection, Drama, Gen, No Spoilers, Racist Language, animal pain discussion, dead animal part
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-12 23:31:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12970806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyellas/pseuds/Tyellas
Summary: Strickland watches over the scientists trying to analyze the Asset. And one type of solution leads, in his mind, to another.





	Perfect specimens

Strickland had been at Occam Aerospace for three hours. He was fed up with this first batch of scientists already.

Right now, there were four of them, three visitors and an Occam man, clustering around Strickland's prize. The Asset had been decanted, revived, and put into position. Weakened by its journey here, the creature was still hell to wrangle, slick and magnetic and ferocious. Getting it into four-point bondage on a lab table hadn't been pretty. If Strickland let up for an instant – the damn thing could sense him slacking off - there’d be chaos. Strickland circled closer to the scientists, shifting his cattle prod from hand to hand.

The zoologist (Strickland had pinned him as a kike) was pawing through a notebook, saying, “This creature is so advanced. Surely it must have some mammalian features! Is it tame? May I feed it?”

Strickland glowered at the man's un-American accent. "No."

Another, an ichthyologist (a sissy, had to be, the shirt under his lab coat had _flowers_ on it) spoke up. “My hypothesis – from our pathology preview – is that we see here the ultimate evolution of another phylum. That it is to the periophthalmus as _homo sapiens_ is to the primitive shrew.” He lifted an enormous jar, with a giant fish head in unspeakable fluid. Strickland grimaced in disgust. “See the scale patterns here.”

The zoologist said, “I have the utmost respect for your team and analysis. Yet we cannot be definite. If only we could compare it to other animals on a deeper cellular level. Analyse its deoxyribonuclease strands!” The scientists were supposed to be getting results for General Hoyt, not asking more questions. Strickland unwrapped a candy to keep from chewing the inside of his mouth bloody.

The third egghead was tall, thin as a dead man, hauling a tome. Strickland peered in to see his book’s title. Nerve science, by the sound of it: _The Necronomicon._ It was hard luck that, when he opened his mouth, total crap came out. “It is mysterious because it is a mystery. Its life penetrates the veil, linked to other levels of existence. Our own thread of myths shows our need of them.” 

Strickland bit through his candy. Maybe the scientists needed this animal, same way kids thought they needed to play with monkeys at the zoo. After hunting it down, Strickland understood this thing better than any of them. He had paid a price they’d never know to bring it here. It was, in all the ways that mattered, his.

The nerve man was now examining the creature through complex, violet-glass goggles. “Intense Kirlian responses. How intelligent is it? Does it feel pain?”

The zoologist shrugged. “If it was a mammal, yes. But if it is piscine its pain receptors are not as highly evolved. You know how a fish, caught by a fisherman, struggles against the hook? It would not do that if it felt pain as mammals do.”

It felt pain, all right. Strickland had made sure of that.

An ungodly stench filled the air.  The itchyologist had opened the jar. He gloved up and extracted the giant fish head onto a tray. “Let us compare what we can! This is one of our most valuable specimens, a coelacanth. A living fossil, like this creature before us may be. I will show you the gills…”

Strickland snapped. “Goddamn, that stinks. Is it rotting?”

“No, no, sir! It is only the smell of the preservative solution. Formalin, brine, further chemicals. This specimen is one of only thirty in the entire world, but we can study it for a hundred years.”

Strickland watched them make progress. The icthyologist peeled back sliced layers of flesh from the preserved specimen. The dead fish head opened up like a book for the scientist’s knowing hands, revealing bloodless muscle and gills, grayish bone and spiked teeth. When the scientist released it, the flaps of flesh slid back into place. While the icthyologist explained, the Occam man nodded, taking copious notes. This was more like it.

They lumped the tray onto the laboratory slab, next to the creature’s head, to compare them side by side. The creature, chained and collared down, stared the fish head in the eyes. It uttered a sound of misery on the low edge of hearing. Strickland felt certain he and the Asset knew the same thing at the same moment: it didn’t have to be alive to be studied. He pictured the creature dead, graceless, livid itself in a series of those stinking jars. Under control.

Nobody had more right than he did to be done with it at last.

The last of the white coats, the Occam man, had stepped away from the paired specimens. He wasn’t saying much. This one never did. It made it hard to take his measure. He’d been around the project since they’d docked at Galveston. His specialty was so obscure, nobody ever mentioned it. Strickland followed him back to prod him.

“You’re quiet.”

The scientist’s mouth smiled, but his deep brown eyes didn’t. He gestured at the chained, repulsive beast. “I see this creature and I know how much I do not know.”

Strickland’s intuition twinged. Something had always been too right about this one. Too much the central-casting scientist. Unlike the kike and the sissy, not toning down how they talked or their messy, out-loud thinking. Unlike the bookworm who didn’t sound sane, let alone normal. 

“You staying on the project?” He gave Strickland a nod, no more.

This was one of the men to strong-arm to get what Strickland needed. Starting now.

“I like a man who can keep his mouth shut.” Strickland leaned in and helped himself to the man’s ID tag. “Dr. Robert. Hoffstetler. I’ll be seeing a lot more of you. Bob.”

He stayed the perfect scientist. “You are staying, too? What will your role be,” he paused, “Richard?”

“ _You_ can call me Strickland. Security. Discipline. Like before. Our General likes…” He flicked on his cattle prod briefly, let it crackle. At the sound, the creature cowered. He smirked. “What I deliver.”

**Author's Note:**

>  _Do fish feel pain?_ Many people and groups - sport fishermen, economic fishing operations - are invested in the idea that fish don't feel pain. The scientific discussion sampled in this story [ and updated for 2017 in this decently-referenced Australian Museum article,](https://australianmuseum.net.au/do-fishes-feel-pain) continues today.


End file.
